


even paradise has an expiration date

by pududoll (aprilclash)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Domestic Boyfriends, M/M, Sexual Content, friendly tentacles, liberal use of stage names, omission of truth is not exactly a lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilclash/pseuds/pududoll
Summary: In Jaehyun's little paradise, it doesn't matter if Doyoung's poisonous flowers have taken over the house, if rain is clogging the Floo Network or if Jaehyun keeps tripping on slimy tentacles in the foyer. Doyoung smiles at him and it's enough. (Or, the HP au in which Jaehyun comes home every night to his herbologist boyfriend and no one wants to talk about their job.)





	even paradise has an expiration date

It’s raining when Jaehyun comes home. Full drizzle, ninety percent humidity, the kind of rain that penetrates into your bones to soak the marrow, London’s rain, merciless and thick, and a little whiny. It drenches Jaehyun’s coat, the vest, the shirt, the trousers and the tie, down to his underwear, drowning the little box of fish and chips he bought on his way home from a tiny, dirty stall just five minutes away from the fifteenth exit of the Ministry of Magic, near Camden Square.

(Doyoung will complain. He hates fish and chips. Doyoung hates everything by default, but he loves Jaehyun and that’s enough for both of them.)

Actually, it should’ve been Doyoung’s turn to cook today, according to the little pink list they scrabbled and pinned on the fridge two weeks ago, when it became clear for the both of them that Jaehyun was struggling to keep up with the chores on his own. Before, when he still interned at the Improper Use of Magic Office, Jaehyun was able to work his eight hours shift at the Ministry, keep the apartment from turning into a dumpster – or an equatorial jungle, according to Doyoung’s mood – and cook for the both of them at least four times a week. Things have been a little trickier since his promotion to the Floo Network Authority, but somehow they’re managing. Barely. 

(Jaehyun is hopeful. Doyoung, well, he tries.)

The new job brings more money, sure, but Jaehyun is working overtime almost every day, which means the time they get to spend together trying to find a surface of their flat they have yet to christen has dramatically, painfully decreased, and Jaehyun has lost the count of the times he’s seen Doyoung staring at him, both nervous and calculating, some mute words frozen on the tip of his tongue, unable to melt in Doyoung’s lovely voice. Jaehyun already knows what his boyfriend want to tells him. _You could leave that job. You don’t need to overwork yourself. I make enough money for the both of us. I want you to rest._

But Doyoung won’t ever say those words, first because Jaehyun is too stubborn and prideful to stay at home like a good trophy wife, and second because they would lead them to talk about Doyoung’s job and Doyoung’s job is kind of a taboo for them. Jaehyun has learnt not to bring it up. Doyoung would rather choke than mention how in Merlin’s realm he can get so much money every time he sends yet another batch of potion ingredients to one of his customers. It’s not the best solution but they tiptoe around it. They make compromises. That’s what couples do – normal couples, at least.

(Except... Except some things can’t be filtered. Doyoung _does_ live surrounded by his job, after all. Jaehyun knows Doyoung has received not one, not two, but three last minute orders from some potion ingredients he needs to provide before the end of the week, and Jaehyun all but knows how distracted Doyoung gets when he’s overworked, things like starting the laundry, cleaning the sink or even throwing some meat inside the microwave completely gone from his mind.)

Jaehyun shakes his head as he enters the hall of the apartment building, swinging the plastic bag containing their rather drenched dinner back and forth and mentally patting himself on the back for being such a good, caring boyfriend. The elevator is stuck at the twelfth floor, because the Indian family there is moving – the father has found a new job in Manchester, they told Jaehyun last week. It’s only five floors, so he goes for the stairs, skipping two steps at a time, leaving squeaky, wet footprints on the grey tiles.

(Doyoung chose the building, in one of the poorest, most dangerous boroughs of the city. “You’re a wizard, Jaehyun,” he said, in his bored, almost cruel, painfully-Doyoung voice, when Jaehyun complained about the crime rates. “Are you really afraid some Muggle will snatch your purse?”

It is not a bad building, per se. It’s old and cold and all the residents except Doyoung and Jaehyun are Muggles, which means they can’t use most domestic spells, that they can’t Apparate in the foyer and that there’s not a fireplace and Jaehyun has to regretfully renounce to his free Floo ride home, a privilege only granted to the employees of the Floo Network Authority. But it’s a place that makes Doyoung happy, at least. It’s a place that made both of them happy. All their memories together, as a couple, are here.)

From the stairs, Jaehyun can hear the kids on the second floor screaming and running around inside their apartment, the television blaring a music quiz show - he recognizes the song before the contestant can ring the bell and give the answer - and the babysitter screaming to get attention. The walls are awfully thin. For a moment, he’s glad he and Doyoung are living on the fifth floor, surrounded only by sleepy medical student, the clerk of a shoes shop and a couple of loud Italian immigrants who work at the pizza place inside the mall.

(He can’t count the times he had to meet one of his neighbors on the stairs after a night of rough, kinky sex with Doyoung, only to be met with blushing faces or, worse, knowing snickering. He’s quite surprised no one has ever tried to compliment him for his sexual prowess yet. Both he and Doyoung are screamers.)

Fifth floor. The light in front of his doorstep trembles, threatening to die out while Jaehyun quickly rummages in his pockets, looking for the silly Holyhead Harpies keychain Doyoung found for him in a special set of pumpkin pasties during a trip to Hogsmeade three months ago. 

Jaehyun shivers. It’s too cold in the hallway, all spooky echoes coming from the other apartments and the sound of the rain knocking against the windows. The wet clothes stick uncomfortably to his back and thighs. His fingers bump against the wand and an old flip cell phone before they close against the keys. Finally, despite the tremble in his hands, he manages to stick the right key in its keyhole and turn it around, one, two, three times. The door gives up under his hands and he opens it barely enough to sneak inside, diving into the sliver of heat, before closing it at its back, as if afraid all the warmth will escape and run away into the night.

Inside the apartment the air is, as usually, humid, sticky and pretty hot. Jaehyun inhales the smell of earth, honey and foliage. Home, sweet home. He sheds his coat, takes two blind steps towards the hanger and trips onto a large, slimy tentacle on the floor. Welcome home, indeed.

“Doyoung, what the actual fuck!” he screams, when his knees hit the floor. The tentacle curls around his ankle, affectionate, almost shy, and Jaehyun swats it away. “How many times did I tell you not to let the fucking Thailandese Snarfalump out of its greenhouse?”

“Don’t be a dick, Jaehyun, you’re hurting his feelings. You know how much Steven likes you!” 

Doyoung’s voice filters under the door of the bathroom, echoing in the empty, dark apartment, distorted and weak.

Jaehyun bites back a curse, sighs, pats Steven the Snarfalump away from his thigh and gets up again. His knees hurt from the fall and he makes sure to complain about it in a very loud and whiny voice, hoping Doyoung will take the bait. (Doyoung doesn’t.) Unsatisfied, and pained, he makes his way towards the bedroom, shedding cold droplets everywhere.

The thing with sharing an apartment with a herbologist is that, well, even if Doyoung doesn’t like to talk about his job – and he doesn’t, not even a single word – after they started living together it got increasingly difficult for Jaehyun to pretend he ignores what his boyfriend does for a living. Doyoung doesn’t take his work home. Doyoung lives with his work. On his work. In his work. For his work, even. Which is way Jaehyun has to pave his way through the narrow corridor, moving barbed vines and luscious, purple bushes out of his way, instead of simply walking through it. Some of the plants crawl away when he walks next to them, some blink a neon mint blue. One of the flowers hisses at him.

“Fuck you, Eleanor,” he answers, knowing full well her name is Eloise.

“It’s Eloise,” echoes Doyoung from the bathroom. “I swear to god, Jaehyun, it’s almost as if we’re not even living together.”

“Yes,” hisses Jaehyun back, low enough that Doyoung can’t hear it, “me, you and your personal lettuce field.”

Jaehyun has learnt to be careful around Doyoung’s babies. Most of these plants are poisonous. Some of them are sentient. All of them want to throttle Jaehyun. Well, except Steven. Steven is a good guy, thinks Jaehyun, feeling marginally guilty for swatting the Snarfalump away earlier. He’s just a little bit... Affectionate. Which is not always a good thing, especially for a plant with so many tentacles.

With some effort, Jaehyun finally manages to stumble inside the last room at the end of the corridor, letting out a relieved sigh. Their shared bedroom is the only place in the entire house where Doyoung’s herbs, fungi, and poisonous flowers are not allowed. They have already colonized the rest of the house, a soft carpet of roots and undergrowth, a living, breathing green wallpaper. They’ve filled all the crawlspaces, and now they peek from baseboards and hang from the lamps like elaborated, kinda lethal, hipster examples of house decor. Everywhere except the bedroom. Their bedroom, as tiny and bare as it is, is still safe.

Jaehyun wastes no time, shedding his work clothes for comfortable slacks and an old Slytherin t-shirt, a worn out relic of his Hogwarts days. He doesn’t hear the door opening and when he looks up, hair a mess, his chin still stuck on the collar of the shirt, he sees Doyoung, standing in front of the door.

Something in his chest comes loose. It’s always like this with Doyoung, a push and pull. A feeling of dread that settles down at the mouth of Jaehyun’s stomach when they’re apart, close enough to his lungs to feel like hysteria, only to be completely, overwhelmed and drowned by the tallest, clearest wave of adoration as soon as Doyoung strolls in front of him and leans against the door frame, his head cocked to the side, his arms crossed. It’s difficult to give a name to what Jaehyun feels for this boy, for his stained hands, for the way Jaehyun’s shirt sits too low on his neck, exposing the collarbone and last night’s hickeys.

Doyoung tilts his head, more neck, more tendon, more pale skin, more of his hair falling in front of his face, wet and dark against his skin. His glasses slide down his nose, his hip is tilted, he’s pouting. “You’re awfully late today,” he says, which in Doyoung-ese kind of means _I missed you._

Jaehyun can feel the dimples caving in his cheek from how hard he’s smiling. 

“I’m home,” he says. “I brought food.”

Doyoung’s eyes zero on the wet plastic bag lying limply on the floor. He swallows and Jaehyun follows the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple.

(Has Doyoung even eaten today? Probably not. It’s a little more than worrisome to think that, if it wasn’t for Jaehyun, Doyoung wouldn’t have eaten for at least other three days – that’s what work does to him. It’s worrisome and it also makes Jaehyun a little proud, because he knows he’s taking care of Doyoung, he knows Doyoung trusts him to take care of him. It’s also a little thrilling, because Doyoung told him that before Jaehyun happened, before _they_ happened, work always used to come first for Doyoung and nothing could ever snap him out of it, but now Jaehyun is here and his mere presence has been enough to summon Doyoung away from the plants and into their shared bedroom. 

Jaehyun 1 - 0 One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.)

“What kind of food?” asks Doyoung, scrunching his nose when Jaehyun takes the greasy, half-collapsed box out of the plastic bag. “Is that fish and chips come on Jaehyun you know I hate fish and chips you could’ve just gone to the burger place.” He says it all in a breath, without pauses, a rehearsed, default complaining that doesn’t match the way he moves closer, retrieving a towel from the chair to lay it on top of Jaehyun’s damp hair. He starts rubbing, back and forth.

“You’re like a wet dog,” he says under his breath, voice softening and melting at the sight, and Jaehyun’s smiles so wide it pulls up the corner of Doyoung’s lips too, for a moment. “You should’ve taken the Floo, at least until the Betty Smith’s shop, mister I-work-for-the-Floo-higher-ups. You could’ve bought the food on the way.”

Since their building is too Muggle to have a fireplace, Jaehyun should have Flooed himself to the closest safe haven, a cauldron shop hidden between a drugstore and a burger joint, only five minutes of walk from their building. 

“The Floo Network was too crowded today. It’s the rain, you know? It’s interfering with the system. At least twenty-five fireplaces were clogged by it and stopped working in this neighborhood alone. Besides, I know you hate those burgers.”

“We could have ordered in,” comments Doyoung, absent-mindedly, his eyes glazed and unfocused. He bends down and kisses Jaehyun’s lips, just the softest brush of tongue against them, short and chaste, like a greeting. He’s gone before Jaehyun can think of chasing him.

“I tried calling you before I left the office, but you didn’t answer,” says Jaehyun, eyes still trailed on Doyoung’s lips, wishing he’d kiss him again. 

“I was a little busy today,” murmurs Doyoung.

“What for?” he asks. He doesn’t even think about it, he just asks. Doyoung looks away and bites his lips. “I… I have to finish packing everything before…” His voice trails away and dies. He looks at Jaehyun, apologetic and a little nervous. “You know I don’t…”

“You don’t like to talk about your job, I know. Let’s not talk about your ugly job. It’s boring and uneventful and it keeps you away from me. Besides, we have enough vegetables around us as it is, we don’t have to talk about what you do with them all the time too.”

Jaehyun is right. Doyoung keeps plants in the sink, down the drain, even inside the toilet. They grow in their pantry and in the cupboards and under the sofa. At least he’s not allergic to pollen, that could’ve been a problem. At least he’s not dying to know what the hell Doyoung does with all these plants, who is he selling them to. At least.

“Tell me about your day, then,” asks Doyoung, and for a while Jaehyun does just that, chattering inanely about a new kind of Floo-pow that minimizes the cost and allows for a far more comfortable journey, but only within the same district. “For now, the Research Department is still trying to improve the traveling distance,” he says, excitedly, and Doyoung just nods, eyes wide, terribly interested, even if Jaehyun is just talking about permits and inspections of malfunctioning fireplaces and licenses. 

(It’s not like Doyoung is really _that_ interested. He just likes to listen, because it’s Jaehyun. “It’s not that it’s interesting. You’re interesting,” he had said once, before they started dating. “You make things interesting.”)

They somehow manage to move onto the kitchen. The jungle they call their home splits in front of Doyoung, its only master, making way for them. They set up the table with two forks, a single plate and a single cup, because Doyoung forgot to wash the dishes – and they always end up drinking from the same cup when they’re together, sharing their cooties.

The television sits in front of them, fat and pompous and black. Jaehyun watches it at night when he can’t sleep, but not when they’re like this, together. Doyoung’s voice is usually enough to fill the empty space his plants aren’t already occupying. Only this time he’s oddly quiet.

“Is there a problem, _hyung_?” asks Jaehyun, the word foreign and forced on his tongue. He had learnt how to use it when he met Taeyong back in Hogwarts six thousand years ago, and now he exploits it with Doyoung, who might act like he’s lived in London all his life but he’s a true Korean at heart, weak to _aegyo_ , alcohol and well-placed honorifics, prone to cuss and all that shit Jaehyun wouldn’t know, being a second-generation Korean, born and raised in Chelsea.

Taeyong and Donghyuck taught him a few tricks though, and this time too, without fail, Doyoung’s expression relaxes when Jaehyun calls him _hyung_.

“Not really, just... It’s just work. It’s really stressing me out, this time.”

He smiles, a knee-jerk reflex to a stressing situation, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jaehyun wants to shake him, to pull him into his embrace, to kiss him and to tell him everything will be all right. Jaehyun wants Doyoung to tell him what’s wrong, but he cannot ask. Doyoung’s work is not a safe topic. Doyoung’s work is not a topic at all. That’s the rule, that’s the boundary they have set when they started going out together, and Jaehyun is really keen on being a respectful boyfriend, he believes in setting boundaries and respecting them and he believes Doyoung will talk to him when he’s ready. Until then, he only has to accept him, comfort him the way he can. He can smile. He does, complete with dimple and little wrinkles at the side of his eyes, full of love and affection, the kind of smile Doyoung can’t resist.

Doyoung smiles too.

(They keep the bills in the foyer, on an enchanted basket so that Steven - or Eloise or any of Doyoung’s pets – cannot eat them. They keep their wands on the bedside drawer and the toilet paper in the shoe rack and their shoes are usually just lying around everywhere. _Accio_ is their favorite spell, really, the only way to find the stuff their domestic jungle has swallowed. They keep lube in every corner and in most of the pockets of their casual clothes, because Doyoung is a horny little thing, especially when he’s working, on a close deadline, terribly stressed, and Jaehyun... Well, Jaehyun doesn’t need a reason to fuck Doyoung other than he really, really, _really_ likes Doyoung, to the point of going crazy most of the time.)

They almost don’t make it to the bedroom this time. Jaehyun hoists Doyoung up against the door of the bathroom and they both wince when Doyoung’s head hits the ceiling, the walls too short, the corridor too crowded, the apartment stuffy and filled with green and pink and brown everywhere.

Jaehyun pulls Doyoung down to kiss him, and when he opens his eyes, he takes in the sight of Doyoung’s face, blissed out and pink, framed by a twig of equally pink flower and silver leaves.

(It’s in moments like this that he realizes why the flowers must love Doyoung so much. Why everything in this world must love Doyoung so much. Doyoung is lovely.)

Doyoung is lovely in their sheets, wrinkled and too thin from multiple washings - they should go out and buy new ones but they’re both too busy and too lazy and Doyoung would feel too awkward and out of place in a Muggle decor store, with his stained hands and flowers in his hair.

Doyoung is lovely in Jaehyun’s shirt, only Jaehyun’s shirt and nothing else, and it rises on his stomach leaving goosebumps in its wake when he gasps at the pressure of Jaehyun’s fingers on his nipple, rough even through the fabric.

Doyoung looks lovely around Jaehyun’s fingers, clenching on them, the reading glasses they have both forgotten to take away sliding down his nose until he can’t see anything and he has to squint to focus on Jaehyun’s focused expression, and then not even that because he squeezes his eyes shut and he squeezes Jaehyun’s fingers inside him. He tries to close his legs but Jaehyun is still sitting between them. He whines.

Doyoung is lovely on top of Jaehyun, his back sweaty and hot against Jaehyun’s chest, and the angle is a little too strained for them to kiss properly but somehow they make it work, they’ve always managed to make it work since the first time Jaehyun got on his knees in front of Doyoung and gave him a red rose and a stuttered confession.

(What a joke, giving a flower to a herbologist. Jaehyun didn’t know – not yet – and maybe he wouldn’t have done it if he had known, except, except, except Doyoung found it lovely instead of gross and too cheesy and here they are, thirteen months into a messy relationship, six into an even messier co-habitation, still going strong and holding hands just before they come together.)

Doyoung rolls down on Jaehyun’s dick, letting gravity pull him down, a little too fast, a little too frantic and messy, and Jaehyun gives up on trying to help him keep a rhythm, just sneaks on his front to jerk him off, equally frantic, equally messy.

(Doyoung is lithe and hot and sweaty and no matter how many times they do this it’s always a snug, snug fit. It’s always maddening. It is, most of the times, messy, just like they are, but sometimes also sweet. This time, though, this time it’s both.)

Doyoung clenches down on Jaehyun’s dick one last time, hard, and Jaehyun’s hand catches on the head of his cock, too rough, unintentionally tight, and that’s all it takes for Doyoung to tip over, to the other side, wetting Jaehyun’s hand and clenching around him in return. Jaehyun sees fire behind closed eyelids, feels blood thundering in his ears, and has to lean his forehead on Doyoung’s spine, nosing at the nubs on his back, trying to make it last, to drag this moment, this perfect moment when he’s so close to Doyoung he can almost hold his heart in his hands.

Then, everything comes crashing down.

Doyoung yawns and curls on Jaehyun’s side, bony and warm and completely passed out on the damp sheets. Jaehyun moves the matted mess that is his hair away from his forehead, combing it backwards with his fingers to reveal Doyoung’s scowl. He sighs. Only Doyoung would be able to look so tense and annoyed even in his sleep. Jaehyun covers him with a blanket when he gets up, because he’ll never hear the end of it if Doyoung has a sore throat tomorrow.

The floor of their bedroom is cold, but the rest of the house is hot, too hot, a spell Doyoung has bought on the black market in Knockturn Alley from a scantily clad French witch a few months ago. Equatorial climate in five minutes, she had said, and it worked, it works, but it also makes the air too stuffy and heavy, and sometimes it chokes Jaehyun. Sometimes, everything chokes Jaehyun.

He slips his coat on, answers Doyoung’s sleepy mumble with a murmur of, “Going to smoke,” grateful that Doyoung is too far gone to stop him because if there’s a habit of Jaehyun Doyoung absolutely despises it’s his addiction to nicotine.

He takes the umbrella too, because it’s too much of a Muggle residential zone to use spells against the rain and an official warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office only a few weeks after he stopped working for them is the last thing he needs.

There are twelve floors and no elevators until he reaches the rooftop, and Jaehyun’s footsteps are heavy and tired. The night is chilly, weeping wetly over the grey skyline. Jaehyun plays with the phone in his hands, only sending a message when he’s around the tenth floor. The phone rings just as he closes the door of the rooftop at his back.

“Is everything alright, Yoonoh? It’s not like you to call out of schedule.”

He sighs on the phone, and his silence worries the woman on the other side even more.

“Can you talk? Do we need to send backup?”

“Oh no, no…” He takes a deep breath, feeling the woman’s nervousness seep through the phone. He shouldn’t have called. “It’s just... It’s been a rough couple of days, that’s it.”

(It’s been a rough couple of months. A bruise pulses on Jaehyun’s neck. It has the shape of Doyoung’s mouth.)

“It’s only for another few weeks, Yoonoh. We’re so close, the next two deals will take us to the ring and then we’ll pull you out. Easy. Safe.”

Another few weeks. Even paradise has an expiration date. Smoke drags against Jaehyun’s lungs, like a scratch, matching on the inside the red lines Doyoung has left on the outside. Jaehyun closes his eyes.

“What will happen to him?”

There’s a brief hesitation on the other side of the line. Jaehyun can imagine his boss, a tiny, dainty woman with a mean Blasting Curse and tiny, inquisitive eyes, furrowing her brows.

“Kim Dongyoung? The herbologist?”

“Yes, him. What will happen to him after…” he tugs on his bottom lip, “if the mission is a success?”

“Well, possession of illegal magical creatures. Collaboration with dark wizards. We could link him to a couple of curses too. Half of the spells he uses to keep us from finding that apartment of his have been forbidden years ago. Not even you can tell us the location, and you live there. He’ll get twelve years, minimum. Ten, if he’s smart enough to cry in front of the Wizengamot, but he doesn’t look like the crying type.”

(Oh, but Doyoung is the crying type. He cries so well for Jaehyun sometimes.)

“I understand,” exhales Jaehyun, the smoke rising in wisps and wreaths and fading away like a dream.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Yoonoh? You’re really out of it today. Should we anticipate our plans?”

And now it’s unmistakable, the note of worry. More for the mission than for him. “No,” lies Jaehyun, because that’s what he does. He’s the best at lying. That’s why they sent him to Kim Dongyoung, to lie his way into his heart. “We’ve waited fifteen months for this mission, we can’t undermine it at the last minute. I’ll keep my focus.”

There’s silence on the other side. A sigh. “I’ll hear from you in two days, before the delivery of the next batch of ingredients. Keep an eye on Kim Dongyoung and report us anything strange, agent Jung.”

“Of course.”

_Of course._

Jaehyun steps on the cigarette butt and lets the phone fall back in his pocket. He doesn’t remember walking back to the little flat on the fifth floor. He greets one of the short Italian girls living next door, coming back from a late night shift, but he doesn’t even see her. He walks inside his and Doyoung’s personal garden in a daze.

Doyoung stirs when he opens the door, and sends a sleepy, albeit disapproving glare at Jaehyun when he scoots closer, kicking the shoes away to roll on the bed next to him.

“You smell of smoke,” he says, scratchy and pouty. “It’s disgusting.”

That’s the smell of lies, wants to answer Jaehyun, or Yoonoh, or Jay, or all the names he’s been called in the last years.

“Kiss it away, love,” Jaehyun says, with a soft smile, curling around Doyoung’s heat.

“Go and brush your teeth,” mutters Doyoung, but his lips linger on Jaehyun’s temple.

Yoonoh shivers, closes his fists tight enough for the nails to breach the skin and tastes bile at the back of his throat. Twelve years. Ten maybe, if he’s good.

Yoonoh has a job, a career, this mission could change his life. 

(He tries not to think how Kim Dongyoung has already changed it. With his sharp words, with the way he coos at brown roots and vermilion tentacles and golden flowers, with the way he smiles like a kid for every new sprout. With his hands, stained gold and red and green, purple and blue, explosions of colors like little galaxies on his fingertips, vivid and bright against Jaehyun’s jaw, tracing his lips, featherlight touches on his closed eyelids. He can’t bear to think about it.)

Jaehyun... Jaehyun is just an office worker, recently promoted to a better desk and a better office in the Floo Network Authority field. He works himself to the bone to buy rare roses for his boyfriend, goes a little bit out of the way to pick up chicken before he comes back home and always arrives at work in time on Monday with a hickey on his neck, at the edge between the collar of his perfectly ironed shirt and the jealous stares of the world, barely on display, exactly where Doyoung put it.

Jaehyun turns his head and kisses Doyoung back. For tonight, it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> mmmh hi this is not what it seems i swear (ok, it is exactly what it seems)  
> -i just wanted to write gross domestic dojae, (un)friendly plants and kinda vague smut  
> -this fic is the kinda angsty prequel to a sadly-still-wip auror!markhyuck fic  
> -snarfalumps are real magical creatures in the hp verse, but i'm not sure they're usually kept as domestic pets  
> -i know nothing about camden, i googled a lot but pls don't chew on me if there are inaccuracies (any kind, not just about camden), if you point it out i'll edit ;;  
> -necessary disclaimer: i don't own any nct members, not the right to the hp verse sadly. and i'm not gaining anything from this fic.  
> -thanks to cata for pushing me in the right direction, shaheer for being the recipient of my 3am ramblings and silvia for #reasons  
> -if you want to become friends i usually cry, among other things, about nct here at @aprilclaws on twitter  
> -leave a kudo if you liked it, kudos make me happy!  
> thank you for reading until the end <3


End file.
